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StubbornI'm stubborn
But I made it, it's mine
I made up my mind
You don't get to move it
You don't get to reprove it
Don't you call anybody else yours
They're all liars
they're all whores
You're stubborn
But you made up your mind
It doesn't matter, because you're still mine.

PerspectiveThere was a war brewing.
Millions were already dead and I headed a rescue operation to save innocent lives before they could get caught in the cross fire of the next clash. This city was cut off from the rest of us. They had no idea what was going on outside of their own little world. We planned to take them to a safe haven more beautiful and clean than anything they had ever known.
But we found them all sitting sadly inside the protective dome of their city. Each quietly starring at a painted image of a golden coin. It wasn't particularly remarkable to me, but they were teary eyed at the sight of it. I asked a native what was going on and he told me that everyone in the town collected these coins. The shinier... the more rare... the more precious. If you did not have these coins you were a worthless human being, unattractive for marriage, unattractive for jobs, you were barely a person. Everyone strove to have the best of the coins, and as many of them as possible. But it just so happ

Hold On To MeWhen the world seems to dim
When the day won’t let in
Call out for me
Reach out for me
When the night’s coldest grin
Seems to stir from within
Call out for me
Reach out for me
Don’t let it handle you so
Don’t fight back, let me go
Hold on to me
Don’t let it be
When the world seems so cold
When only you won’t let go
Call out for me
Don’t give up on me
When the dark has a hold
And you don’t feel so bold
Call out for me
Don’t give up on me
Don’t let me handle you so
Don’t fight back or let me go
Hold on to me
Don’t let it be

Can you seeCan you see
Can you see
Scratching on the surface
Can you feel
Deep in me
There’s another purpose
It’s pretty plain
Pretty plain
There’s nothing left inside
It’s a pretty shame
That this game
I can no longer hide

Just Press OnBreathe it out, choke
Push it down, low
Let it pass
Let it slide
Moving through your chest
Cutting in your back
Shoulder it
Smoulder it
Press it in, hard
Blink it back, swollow
Lay it aside
Lay it behind
Numb it out, clear
Breathe it in, deep
Hold it long
Just press on

Dont mistake me for aliveDon’t mistake me for alive
It’s just a lie
Baby it’s a lie
Don’t go where I want to hide
It’s all mine
Baby it’s all mine
Don’t say my name once or twice
I’m too shy
Baby I’m too shy
Don’t touch me cuz my heart’s like ice
I’m no dime
Baby I’m no dime
Don’t tell me it’s okay
Nothing’s fine
Baby nothing’s fine
Don’t turn tail and run away
I don’t wanna die
Baby I don’t wanna die

Before My Heart DiesLead tongue
Sore eyes
Leaning over backwards
To get passed your lies
Distraction
Disgraced
Never thought you’d go
My whole life, misplaced
Dry throat
No sound
Screaming in the silence
Six feet beneath the ground
No grieving
No remorse
Never thought you’d go
You say my life ran it’s course
No voice
Sore eyes
Clawing to the surface
Before my heart dies

Warm DecemberMy body knows this body
Made to fit
Cold ice makes me shiver
But it’s a warm December
My ears know this voice
Made to submit
Warm hands wrapping fingers
But they won’t linger
My heart knows this heart
Made to hold it
Hot passion and desire
But it’s an ice cold fire

There is still...There’s still a softness to your touch
A warm feeling in your fingers
Dust covers everything
Disheveled papers
Unwashed sheets
Unmoved photo frames
There’s still a familiarity in your voice
A sense of belonging in our house
Distance covers everything
Disheveled memories
Unwashed hands
Unmoved moments in time

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More from DeviantArt

Broken WatchHope was killing me every day,
so I threw my broken watch to the sea.
Since then I wake drowning every night,
at the same hour it had stopped ticking.

WishingHave you ever heard a song
singing the mysteries of me
when you drink from my words,
as cries of love, and of pain
float into verse and stanza;
a moonlit voice showing the way.
Delicate and tubular,
or as waves crashing
to drown you in darkness.
The breath of spirit trembles
to the melody of my soul.
I wish you could hear the music.

obscurity retrieved alchemizing dawn
in the rippling creases
of crashing moons
where harp cords
vibrate catastrophe
but never make a sound--
knifing through oxygen
rivet punctures dipping
into the grail of sanguine snagging
ancestry as futures hitch
on a cliff left
by dishonored limbs
tornado
torn long ago--
mortality is gravity

maybe god is in peoplehe closes his eyes during church when they pray.
it's a tiny white place of worship
behind a gas station in the rougher part of town
he sways his hips whenever they sing
(which is the majority of the time)
and he gets full of this inner light that
i've never experienced--though of course
if i had experienced it, i'd have no idea.
his eyes flutter back and his neck bends like
he's howling at the heavens
while his foot steadily taps away
an energetic partner to his illuminated soul.
but then it stops.
a shy glance towards me and a sudden
cease of spirituality makes me realize that
he is uncomfortable with me there
(i was sitting hunched in the pew
trying not to look anyone in the eye).
i wasn't raised on faith
i've never been granted with
an instruction manual on how to get it
i think it'd be nice, but
my curious nature that required me to question everything
couldn't make logic out it.
when i was little, all i noticed were the
odd looks and heinous whispers we'd get when we'd tell

CursedI am cursed to wander
Without a home
Guided by the stars
And the footprints
Of who I will become

To trust a strangerYou need to be careful
of who you trust
because not all puppets
obey their masters
sometimes they
cut their strings.
(Who wants to be restricted anyway?)

stargaiti.
watch these wormholes
wring meaning from
dated constellations,
and document the details
of darker vates.
this is the third time you've called
and my voicemail absolves you;
all of your sins are
recorded and ample.
ii.
amplified by the stretch
of time distorting
the face of those we knew once
into half-dali portraits.
you're storming out of the den
in matisse tones and wild accusations
and i am pleading
with the station wagon.
iii.
waging new wars
with old guns
and sharpened asterisks,
you never were one
to drop theatrics.
but my own wrists fall vogue
to scrivening passages
in pasts tense with
unsung praises.
iv.
praying in the pantry
that god's recipes
are indecipherable
and magic.
when you were baptized
i felt the urge to fill your lungs solely
with holy water.

faces of death1. more poem than shotgun shell
2. the silhouette of a lone horseman
3. Dickinson's carriage
or Plath's oven
4. eternal staircase
5. acropolis of flesh
6. only ghost
or stranger
7. another fucking sob story

TherapeuticThe morning hours
Are mourning hours;
As I yearn to be twenty-one
And drink my problems away,
As I yearn for people
And live for lust, not love,
As I yearn for blades
And cut the pain out of me,
As I yearn for the drugs
And dream of high places,
The mourning hours
Are morning hours,
Is the life
I'm afraid
To live...

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Submitted on: May 23, 2006
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Of Butterflies and Spiders

by Takineko, May 23, 2006, 2:07:13 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

What do your clever eyes see young child?
Do you know better than me?
Twin eyes blue and green
As far apart as the eye can see.

Weather its butterflies or spiders
The choices you let fly
Who will live and die
Who can share the sky

What do your clever eyes see old man?
You’ve walked the path from boys
To discover in this world of toys
Which way worked, employed?

When the spider eats the butterfly
Does it make you cry?
Would you let him die?
To spare the gentle creature’s life?

Those who kill spiders become spiders
Deep inside
Within themselves they lied
And it was the butterflies who died.

What do your compassionate eyes see young child?
Do you know better than he?
Twin eyes blue and green
Are you really so far between?

Weather its butterflies or spiders
You want the choices to be let fly
Themselves to choose to live and die
In hopes to share the sky.

What do your clever eyes see old man?
You’ve walked the path from boys
To discover this world of choice
Whose life did you really destroy?

When the spider eats the butterfly
It makes you cry
But you won’t let him die
You spare the creatures life.

Those who love the spiders create butterflies
Deep inside
Their heart of gold is tried
And it was the spiders who cried

And could see who they were
Inside.

Of Butterflies and Spidersby Takineko

©2006-2014 Takineko

the pic is a sketch that Im working on still
You get a cookie if you can guess which one is going to be Vash lol
i guess its not that hard to figure out.

the poem was inspired by Vash and Knives copyright Trigun creators

Violet-Violence Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2009

the picture looks really nice

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Takineko Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2009 General Artist

Thanks so much!

Reply

Violet-Violence Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2009

ur welcome

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